Craving an Analogue Life?

Photo credit: @storiesbychloe

I grew up in the 1980s, in a world that now feels almost impossibly analogue.

There was one television in the house and only four channels to choose from. If you wanted to change the channel, you had to stand up and do it yourself. The video player arrived much later, a top-loading beast that felt thrillingly advanced when it finally appeared.

Music meant a record player. I envied the stacker hi-fi systems at my friends’ houses, while I sat patiently with a tiny cassette player, trying to record the charts from the radio without the DJ talking over the top. Success was rare, especially if a track was still going but the tape reel had run out!

Computers crept in slowly too. We were lucky enough to have a Commodore 64 with its cute joystick, before later upgrading to a more practical BBC computer with an enormous monitor. It looked remarkably like the ones at school, usually wheeled out for science lessons or, even better, when the teacher rolled in the television and video player at the end of term. That moment alone could lift the mood of an entire classroom. An hour of watching a video felt like pure joy.

There were no mobile phones, which meant the teenage experience of waiting for him to call was a masterclass in patience and strategy. You had to make sure you were actually at home, close enough to the phone, and ready to intercept the call before your mum, dad or, worst of all, your brothers answered first.

Meeting friends was simple, until it wasn’t. Plans were made to meet in town at a specific time and place, often outside WHSmith at 1.30pm on a Saturday. If they weren’t there, you waited. There was no texting to check where they were, no tracking, no updates. Just standing and hoping they’d turn up before you needed the loo.

What strikes me most, looking back, is how unreachable we were. After school and at weekends, you could properly switch off and I definitely did. No-one could contact you unless they had your landline number or knew where you lived. Conversations happened face to face, without distraction, and silence was simply part of life rather than something to be filled.

I remember my brother getting his first digital watch one Christmas. He was only allowed it once he could tell the time on an analogue clock. Skills mattered in our house as did education. And he was utterly delighted that he could set his own alarm, convinced he was the bee’s knees.

So why all this harking back to the past?

Because lately I hear more and more people talking about wanting to turn their back on a digital life and lean into something more analogue. And I understand it, because I’ve lived both. I’m not anti-technology at all, in fact, I love having Alexa to set timers, and I’m grateful for a mobile phone that keep me in touch with my family and friends and can instantly answer the strange and wonderful questions that pop into my head.

But I also see the cost. We are a nation of dysregulated nervous systems, and the digital world we inhabit does very little to support regulation. Constant notifications, endless scrolling, comparison, and the feeling that we should always be available all take their toll. There is increasing compelling evidence showing the detrimental effect mobile phones have on children but we’ve become so dependent on our digital ‘friends’ that it feels unattainable to put the brakes on let alone reverse.

An analogue way of living, even in small doses, naturally pulls us back into connection. With real people, in real time. You can see this in the growing popularity of padel, a sport that spans generations. My son often plays late in the evening because it’s cheaper off-peak, but what really matters is the sense of community it creates. It brings people together, supports connection, and quietly counters loneliness.

Going completely cold turkey on digital life would be almost impossible for most of us, but small shifts can make a surprising difference. Charging your phone in another room can create a sense of calm at night. Spending time outside, in all weathers, helps your body recalibrate to natural light and rhythm. Sitting with a friend and talking, moving your body, dancing, singing or even humming all support nervous system regulation in ways that screens simply don’t.

Sleep, too, benefits from a gentler approach. Avoiding the blue light of your phone for an hour before bed can transform the quality of rest you get. Waking up to a radio rather than immediately reaching for your phone might not be entirely analogue, but it can stop you falling straight into the rabbit hole of doom-scrolling before the day has even begun.

And perhaps early spring gives us the perfect nudge. As the days begin to stretch and the light lingers a little longer, now feels like a natural moment to step outside and away from our screens. Nature reminds us that timing matters, and that nothing meaningful can be rushed. Imagine instant blossom on the trees at the click of a finger, or a phone. It wouldn’t feel half as joyous if we could make it happen on demand.

So here’s a question worth sitting with: as the season shifts, where could you invite a little more analogue living into your days, simply by following the light, the weather, and your own natural pace?

This isn’t a call to reject modern life or return to the good old days, although the 80’s were pretty awesome (GenZ-ers if you’ve watched Stranger Things, I know you’ll get it too!). It’s about remembering what once helped us feel grounded, connected and human, and gently weaving some of that back in. Sometimes the old ways still know exactly what we need.